


Imagined Realities

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: For the Daybook prompt, "Nathan & Josiah, Old West, Watching the rest of the team", and inspired by the second "Guardians of the Galaxy" movie.  Don't ask





	Imagined Realities

 

Josiah hated funerals. He'd said it before, and as hard as it was, he knew he'd say it again. And this one, this one had been among the worst.

 

 

 

It wasn’t just that it was JD’s father – though that would have been bad enough. The man had shown up here a month ago, looking for JD. The similarities between Obediah Jackson, Nathan’s father, and Orville Dunne were too similar. Both had been ill. Both had been searching for their sons, following a trail of rumors akin to breadcrumbs. And both had had secrets.

 

 

 

The difference, though, was that Obediah Jackson had wanted to bring his secrets to light for his son, to put right a lie that had festered for decades between them.

 

 

 

In Orville Dunne’s case, he had tried to keep his lie safe and secret, away from the light of day where it would show that while his seed might have produced JD, he had never had any of the qualifications of being a true father.

 

 

 

He’d wanted JD’s protection from the gang of outlaws he’d betrayed. In the end, he’d gotten it, of course, and that of the other six as well. But it hadn’t gotten him his freedom, which he had assumed. In the end, JD had been the one to have to arrest him.

 

 

 

Though thankfully, he hadn’t been the one to kill him. That had come down to Buck, who had refused to let the elder Dunne kill his own son.

 

 

 

But the damage . . .

 

 

 

“Need something stronger than this,” Nathan murmured softly from his side.

 

 

 

Josiah nodded his agreement, wishing desperately for a shot of whiskey in the tea Mary and Gloria had made up for the post-funeral wake. It was kind of them – and of Nettie, who had been more than a little involved in the events of the past month, proving her concern for JD in ways that demonstrated her affection for him. She was inside now, managing the small group of people who had shown up for this event, making sure there was food and drink,, and that JD was watched over.

 

 

 

Josiah leaned back against the porch railing, turning his attention away from the cemetery they had so recently left to the window through which he could see the gathering. “Won’t be long, brother,” he said quietly. “Don’t imagine Chris and Ezra will be long for this gathering. Surprised they are here at all. It isn’t their usual course of action.”

 

 

 

Nathan’s lips turned up in a semblance of a smile, but it faded quickly. “No, it isn’t. Not sure if they’re here for JD or for Buck.”

 

 

 

Josiah nodded, thinking the same. Buck couldn’t make his mind up about it, one minute being righteously angry that he’d had to do what he did, that a man could do that to his own son, and the next guilt-laden that he’d had to kill Orville Dunne.

 

 

 

Two nights ago, in a cloud of whiskey and pain, he had made his way into the sanctuary. He’d made enough noise, thankfully, that Josiah had managed to stop his before he knocked over enough candles to set the place on fire. In the aftermath, as he’d fed Buck water and coffee and stale biscuits, a story came out that explained a lot of Buck’s anguish – and a lot of Buck’s ways.

 

 

 

Josiah wasn’t certain how much of it was true, but given the guilt, he believed that Buck believed it. And if it were true that Buck had killed the man he believed to be his own father, in retribution for the murder of his own mother, then no doubt this situation with JD’s father was bringing out many of his own pains.

 

 

 

Not helped by his own closeness to JD. They’d all noticed that Buck had disliked Orville Dunne from the moment he’d laid eyes on him, and there was no little speculation that it was jealousy. Buck had taken JD under his wing, and though Josiah knew Buck didn’t think of himself as a father figure – a point made all the more clear by Buck’s disdain for his own father – he did feel a protectiveness and concern for JD that none of them had missed.

 

 

 

“Glad I’m not in Buck’s shoes,” Nathan said softly. “I know JD says that Buck did what he had to do, but damned if I’d want to live with that, knowing that JD was still hoping his pa would be a better man.”

 

 

 

“Don’t we all?” Josiah said before he caught himself. But as he remembered Obediah and turned to Nathan, trying to find words, his old friend smiled and shook his head.

 

 

 

“We do, my friend. Just as we hope for ourselves that we’ll be better men. I know I hope it every day, and I’ve heard you pray, so you can’t lie to me.”

 

 

 

Josiah drew a breath but smiled, nodding. “My own father tried to be a better man than anyone else. And he demanded that we be, also. I have never forgiven him for that, especially for what it did to Hannah. But . . .” He drew in a breath, turning over the recent events in his mind. It wasn’t new, this idea about his father, but it contradicted so many years of what he had come to believe that he still couldn’t quite reconcile with it.

 

 

 

“But he wasn’t trying to use you for his own gain?” Nathan said softly. He wasn’t looking at Josiah, and he wasn’t smiling. “I thought for a long time, too damned long, that my daddy had done what was best for him, leaving my ma behind. But I know now that there wasn’t anything he could do. I ain’t speaking for your pa, I’m just saying that sometimes, what we think as kids ain’t what things really are.”

 

 

 

Josiah looked once more through the window, seeing JD, Casey at his side, Nettie patting his shoulder.

 

 

 

“Yeah,” he said, looking past them to the back wall, behind the table with all the food, where Buck stood, Chris on one side and Ezra on the other. Buck was leaning against the wall, his head down so that Josiah couldn’t see his face. “For all the bad he did, it was never intentional – well, it was never for his own gain. He really believed he was helping us – me and Hannah.”

 

 

 

It was true, and Josiah had always known it. But in the past months, seeing Obediah and now Orville Dunne – and Ma Reynolds and Hank Connelley and Maude Standish, among others – he had come to the awareness that there were so many other ways in which fathers – parents – could wrong their children. It had made his own trials with his father diminish in significance.

 

In the distance, he heard the soft ‘chink’ of the shovel as it dug into the mound of dirt, the gentle rasp as the dirt left the metal to find its way to the top of the casket.

 

 

 

“You know, Ezra has a story like that,” Nathan said softly. “He told me once, one of those long nights when he was in the clinic, wishing he was anywhere else, that his own pa was a doctor. Needless to say, I was so surprised that I didn’t have time to ask him questions – well, not until later. But it seems that his pa died when he was about six years old. They lived in Savannah, and his pa stayed when there was an outbreak of Yellow Fever. Ezra said his pa sent him and his ma – Maude – away, out of town. I knew that he meant that they’d been sent to a plantation, and he didn’t try to lie about it. His pa died in the outbreak, treating folk – he wouldn’t leave the city. Ezra said Maude never forgave him, and that Ezra spent a lot of years believing what she said, that his pa didn’t think that they – that he – was important enough.”

 

 

 

Josiah blinked, tilting his head to get a different view of Ezra. It wasn’t easy. The story Nathan told didn’t quite line up with what he knew of the man.

 

 

 

But then, it did. Maude was the key – just as Ma Reynolds had been several months before. Strong women were often made by their circumstances – just as strong men were. It was hard to imagine either of those women as young and innocent and vulnerable. But of course they had been, once; before they had children to protect, before they were on their own, no men to protect them.

 

 

 

They’d become the women they were because they’d lost the men who they trusted. And their sons had become men whose view of their fathers were tempered by their mothers.

 

 

 

His own mother, God rest her soul, had been a stalwart defender of his father. Even when she’d known he was wrong.

 

 

 

Even when she’d been miserable and hated the life they led.

 

 

 

Even when she’d encouraged her children to take a different path. ‘Your father sees God one way. He doesn’t understand that God has many faces, because he has to speak to many people. Your father doesn’t understand that his way isn’t the only way.’

 

 

 

She’d died before any of them was ready to stand up to their father.

 

 

 

It was an irony, Josiah thought now, that for Ezra, it had been his mother who had interpreted the relationship with his father; in some ways, that was what JD, too, had experienced, and for a long time, Buck. For Nathan and Josiah himself, losing their mothers had put their fathers as the key principals in their lives, the ones who had written the stories. Written the history.

 

 

 

It was now, in the wake of this, that his mother’s words were so clear in his head. Just as the sound of the shovel was, in the distant cemetery.

 

 

 

It wasn’t long before Chris, Ezra, and Buck eased out the door, nodding as they drifted past. Josiah and Nathan headed in, talking to Gloria, Mary, and the others as they helped to put things away and tidy up Gloria’s well-ordered house.

 

 

 

“JD’s going to stay with us a few days,” Nettie said, gathering her own coat and baskets, brusque and efficient as ever. “There’s some things need tending on the farm, and he’s offered to help.”

 

Josiah smiled, understanding the message: she’d be looking out for him, along with Casey. Casey who had also lost her own parents, though she had been younger than JD. “I’ll be out in a day or so, to lend a hand – as long as there’s chicken on offer for dinner.”

 

 

 

She grinned in response. “Always chicken for men who work. With Vin and JD around, I won’t have much choice.”

 

 

 

Josiah helped her carry her things to her wagon near the house, then he stood outside, waiting for Nathan. The shovel had stopped, and he knew the grave was covered now. The fresh dirt would mark it for a while, though, until the stone they’d ordered arrived from St. Louis.

 

 

 

Buck and Chris sat at the table in the back of the saloon, a bottle of whiskey already on it, though Buck also had a beer. Ezra was in a game of cards at his usual table, though he nodded to Josiah and Nathan as they passed, on their way to the bar. Chris did as well, as much of an invitation as he’d give – but at least an invitation.

 

 

 

“What a day,” Buck said when Nathan and Josiah settled into chairs.

 

 

 

Wasn’t much to say to that, so Josiah contented himself with sipping on his own beer, which was, thankfully, more welcome than the punch from the reception.

 

 

 

“That was a nice sermon you gave, Josiah,” Buck said. “That part about arrows and such.”

 

 

 

Josiah thought for a few seconds, then recalled the passage. “ ‘Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.’ “

 

 

 

Buck wiped a hand over his face, letting it come to rest over his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “that.” His words were thick and Josiah glanced to Chris who was staring into his drink. The glass contained a healthy measure of the amber liquid, a testament to how little the other man was actually drinking.

 

 

 

With a sigh, Chris said quietly, “Reckon that was a favorite passage of my own pa’s. He had enough of us to have a full quiver – four of us boys, three girls. He wanted all of us to have land, to be farmers like he was.”

 

 

 

Josiah stared at Chris, not sure if he was hearing right. Beside him, Nathan drew a long breath, as if he, too, were confused by what was going on.

 

 

 

Buck, though, made a noise that sounded a little like a laugh, and Josiah realized that the story Chris was telling was for Buck more so than anyone else. “Can’t imagine you with that many other kids. They all as wild as you?” He still had his face covered, but he rubbed at his eyes again, then his hand dropped and reached for his glass.

 

 

 

“My brothers, yeah, except for Deiter. He was the oldest, so he got most of my parents’ expectations. ‘Course, he stood to get most of the farm, too. My folks tried to buy up land around them, as they could afford it, so that they had some to give out to the rest of us, but they were from the Old Country, and Johan, Stefan, and I knew we were pretty much going to have to make our own way. There were also Inga and Katarina to consider – their dowries.”

 

“You had six siblings?” Nathan asked, and Josiah turned to find his friend staring at Chris. “I had two sisters – Anna and Clara. I always wanted a brother – what was it like?”

 

 

 

Josiah worried that the question would draw Chris away, remind him that there were others here besides Buck. Chris was so private by nature that it was a wonder he’d shared this much.

 

 

 

But Chris looked at Nathan, and Josiah thought he saw something in his expression, a sort of sadness or maybe a worry. Chris’ tone was soft and warm as he said, “Reckon I took it for granted. Deiter was three years older than me, and Johan and Stefan were younger, but not by much. We were all so close in age that we took care of each other – but fought like wolves or tigers – I don’t know. Papa always said we were a gang of troublemakers, and he tried to beat it out of us. Though now that I think about it, I don’t think he tried really hard.” He looked down into his glass, and Josiah looked too. When Josiah realized Chris’ glass was now, surprisingly, empty, he pushed the bottle he had brought toward the other man, and Nathan caught it up, filling Chris’ small glass.

 

 

 

“Reckon I’m like Nathan,” Buck said, his voice rough and startling them. “Far as I know, I didn’t have any other kin – no brothers or sisters. Not by blood, anyway. There were a bunch of us young’uns running around – boys and girls, and we looked out for each other. Had to. But weren’t many of us born to the same ma, and none of us sharing a pa, not that we knew, anyway.”

 

 

 

It wasn’t a surprise, as Buck had said things that night so recent that led Josiah to understand about his past and about what his mother had done to feed them. He’d been explicit the other night in the church, but the stories had wound together, often so confusing that Josiah wasn’t sure what was Buck’s story and what was something else. While Josiah’s parents had been married, and his father had taken a very simple view of the Church’s strictures, Josiah had come to see the people themselves, and he had come to understand that there were things that people had to do to survive, things that a literal reading of the Bible did not take into account.

 

 

 

And even a literal reading justified some things; one of Jesus’ first followers was a woman of questionable repute – but she was devoted to him. And, in many ways, Jesus had been devoted to her.

 

 

 

“We had a lot of that, too,” Nathan said. “Us kids had to work, but not as much as the older folk, so we spent a lot of time together. Some days, we didn’t see our own folks at all, ‘specially during the picking season.”

 

 

 

“Cotton?” Chris asked, his voice low.

 

 

 

Nathan nodded. “Mostly, but the plantation also supported itself, so there was always fields to be tended, corn, beans, squash, hay. My dad could be gone for days at a time. And my ma – well, she was a house slave. We spent more time with my aunts and cousins. Guess that’s why, when it comes down to it, I never thought more about what happened – or about what really happened. It was easier to blame my pa than to consider all the stuff I already knew, but didn’t want to accept.”

 

 

 

Josiah stared at Nathan, the words running around in his own head. As if knowing this, or perhaps feeling the weight of Josiah’s gaze, Nathan turned to him and asked, “Reckon we all have issues with our fathers.” It was an invitation, or maybe a command.

 

 

 

Josiah took another drink of his whiskey, debating what he wanted to say. He didn’t like to talk much about his father, and when he did, he was usually drunk or close to it, but this seemed a time when it was needed. He looked toward the door, wishing for a distraction, but when no one appeared, he said, “My father was far from a saint, though he thought he was a martyr. He dragged us – my mother, myself, my sister Hannah – all over God’s fine creation. We buried my mother somewhere in the Dakotas, which was when he decided to try to save the Chinese in San Francisco. It was there that I realized I’d had enough – though not yet enough to leave the Church, only him. Think you know the rest.” They knew of Hannah, of course, and what had happened to her in the years he’d worked so very hard not to go back home.

 

 

 

The others were quiet for a time, letting him finish his drink and pour another, before Buck spoke. The question was simple and direct, and any other time, he’d have done everything in his power to avoid answering it.

 

 

 

“Were you there when he died?”

 

 

 

Any other time.

 

 

 

But not this one. Josiah drew in a deep breath and picked up his glass. But instead of drinking from it, he looked into it, holding it close enough to see the way the amber color lightened and darkened as it moved inside the glass. “I was. Hannah had written to me that he had locked her up, in a convent. I went to confront him, to try to get her free. We argued.” He stopped, unable to say more. The memory was strong as ever, as if he were there now, his father’s words ringing through his mind, his father’s face – red, swollen, one eye blinking so fast that Josiah had thought for a time that his father was possessed.

 

 

 

He had fled the house, more certain than ever that he had to get Hannah out of the convent and away from their father.

 

 

 

The next morning, he made his way to the parish church, hoping to talk to the priest there, a man who knew his father, though he wasn’t certain of the man’s own views about Hannah. It was then, as he made his way up the stairs that the Father came out to him, breaking the news.

 

 

 

“I left him, unable to listen to him anymore,” he said softly, as much to himself as to the others. “The next morning, I learned he was dead. Father Hardin said that the housekeeper found him, on the floor in the kitchen. He appeared to have died from a stoke.”

 

 

 

He wasn’t really aware of taking another drink until someone nudged the bottle against his hand. He took it without looking up.

 

 

 

“Some men ain’t fit to be fathers,” Buck said, his voice lower now. “Man who claimed to be mine – well, let’s just say I’d have taken it as favor if he’d died because he was angry at me. As it was – “

 

 

 

“Seems we all got times with our pas we’d just as soon reconsider,” Chris said, and Josiah looked away from his glass toward the other man. Something in the way Chris had interrupted Buck was off kilter, but Josiah couldn’t get his head back to it. The memories were still swirling in his head, as they always did when they were dredged up.

 

 

 

“Then we’d best move on to some other topic,” a new voice said clearly, and Josiah turned to find Ezra pulling out a chair to his right. He had brought with him a glass and bottle of brandy, which he didn’t offer to anyone, but he did set it toward the center of the table, as close to an invitation as this group needed.

 

 

 

“What was your pa like?” Buck asked, ignoring Ezra’s suggestion.

 

 

 

Ezra arched an eyebrow then took a long sip from his glass, and Josiah wondered if he was ignoring the question. But after he swallowed, Ezra sighed and said, “A bravehearted fool. Or at least that’s what my mother says. I have few memories of him, as he died when I was quite young.”

 

 

 

“So you don’t remember him?” Buck persisted. He leaned across the table, staring at Ezra as if he’d never seen him before.

 

 

 

Ezra shrugged. “I remember a time when my mother was happy. I believe that must have been while he was still alive, but I have little actual memory of him. I know what he looks like – Mother has several daguerreotypes of him and of the two of them together – and she claims that I look very similar to him. But no, I do not recall him outside of her stories. Might I assume,” he said, looking at each of them as he spoke, “that we are having this maudlin conversation because of JD’s recent loss?”

 

 

 

Before anyone could answer, the sound of gunfire from outside drew them to their feet, Chris leading the way out the swinging doors.

 

 

 

It wasn’t really a gunfight, though Nathan ended up treating two of their attackers for bullet wounds. It was the last remnants of the gang after Orville Dunne, making one last effort to avenge the death of their leader, who Chris had killed the same day Buck had had to shoot Orville. The new leader, a kid not much older than JD, had been trying to make a name for himself, and he’d been the first one to go down, a bullet through his gun hand ending that career.

 

 

 

It was well into night when Josiah finally made his way from Nathan’s clinic, where the former leader was spending the night chained to the bed and under Nathan’s attentions. Josiah was pleased to note that there were candles burning on the alter and the smell of meat roasting on the stove in the kitchen, where he went after saying his usual short prayers for the dead and the living. Though tonight, the prayers were a little longer than usual, and he did take an extra minute or so for Orville Dunne. And then another for Obediah Jackson, Dr. Standish, and the man who had fathered Buck. And then, all parents in general.

 

 

 

Vin sat at the small table in the kitchen, an oil light close enough for him to be able to study over a copy of the newspaper. He was at the point where he could read most things, and though he still stumbled over longer words, especially those that were unfamiliar to him, he could understand most things in Mary’s paper.

 

 

 

“There’s tea in the pot on the stove,” he said without looking up from what he was reading. He waved toward the bottle of whiskey on the table nearby without comment.

 

 

 

Josiah smiled at the realization of how far they had come, to the point that Vin knew his moods and the ways they were dealt with. He went to the counter where his cup waited, picking it up as he turned to the stove. The pot with the tea was small, and simmered toward the back of the large wood stove. A large round pot took up much of the stove top and though it was covered, Josiah knew it held a roast of some sort and potatoes and onions.

 

 

 

“Venison should be ready soon,” Vin said. “I spent some time with Chris at the jail, looking at the wanted posters. Them boys might be young but a couple of ‘em been riding the bad side for a while.”

 

 

 

“Good thing we have them, then.” Josiah sat down at the table’s other chair, reaching for the whiskey. It was a full bottle – new, though the wax on the cork had been broken.

 

 

 

As he added some to his tea, Vin turned a page in the paper and said, “Reckon I missed an interesting talk at the saloon this afternoon.”

 

 

 

Josiah took a long drink of the tea, appreciating the mix of favors. The tea itself was a concoction he’d bought from one of the Chinese merchants with the camp building the railroad; he’d been saving up to buy more before they moved on which could be any time now. “I was surprised to hear about Chris’ family. And Ezra’s.”

 

 

 

Vin nodded, still looking at the paper as they talked. “Heard some of it from Chris, more of it from Buck, at the saloon. Heard you told some of your tale.” For the first time, he looked up, his gaze catching Josiah’s.

 

 

 

Josiah shrugged. “Didn’t seem a good way to get out of it. Once Chris told his story, well, the rest of us owed a debt.”

 

 

 

Vin nodded, but his gaze held concern and worry, and Josiah smiled, appreciating a warmth that wasn’t from the tea. He reached out, dropping his hand on Vin’s, where it lay beside the paper.

 

 

 

“You’ve heard it all before,” Josiah said quietly. “And in more detail. You didn’t miss anything.”

 

 

 

Vin’s lips curled slightly up. “Reckon y’all did good. Buck seemed more like himself than he has in a while.”

 

 

 

“Good to hear.” He tightened his fingers over Vin’s hand. “I did wonder what you would have offered to the conversation.”

 

 

 

Vin drew in a slow breath, looking down at the paper. “Can’t talk about what I don’t know,” he said softly.

 

 

 

Josiah waited a couple of heartbeats then said, “You know what a father should be. You know what not having one at all does to a boy.”

 

 

 

Vin shrugged. “Not sure if that’s what needed to be said. You think JD was better off knowing who his pa was? Seems to me if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be suffering what he is now.”

 

 

 

Josiah considered it; it was hard to argue the case – and the same lesson applied to Buck as well, in a way. If he hadn’t known who his father was, he might not have been able to hunt him down and kill him, after the man had killed Buck’s mother.

 

 

 

But when Josiah considered the others, he knew the argument stopped there. Nathan and Chris, and most likely Ezra, despite his lackadaisical attitude, all had arguments and disagreements with their fathers, but they came from families, with the benefits there in: affection, trust and security, people to care in times of hardship, traditions of responsibility and concern.

 

 

 

People from whom to learn how to live with other people. People to emulate.

 

 

 

That thought drew him up short. Instinctively, he turned to look at Vin, the thought leading to others – to ideas that he had been considering in the early morning, when he woke to find Vin beside him, and his own worries about that taking over his mind – the worries overcoming the desires of the night before, the fear and guilt stark in the daylight.

 

 

 

He had wondered, more often than he knew was fair, why Vin never seemed burdened with doubt, or guilt, or even a sense of shame. It occurred to him now, though, that part of that reason was because Vin had never had a father around, or even a man who cared enough to teach him the way that men should behave.

 

 

 

“I ain’t stupid, J’siah,” Vin said softly, though his eyes were turned away. “I know that how I feel about things – how I feel about you – ain’t agreeable to most folk. Hell,” he smiled as he said the word and Josiah heard the emphasis on it, “you don’t even agree with it, not in the cold light of morning.”

 

 

 

Despite himself, Josiah looked away. He hated himself for doing it, but he knew that the truth was in his eyes and that Vin knew it. “It does,” he started, then, when the words came out garbled, he cleared his throat and started again, “it does go against everything I’ve heard my whole life.”

 

 

 

“Reckon a lot of that was from your pa,” Vin said, his voice still quiet. “And I reckon if I’d had one around, I’d have heard a lot of the same.” He sat back then, drawing his hand away from Josiah’s and as he spoke, his voice was harder, bearing an edge that Josiah didn’t often here. There wasn’t the heat of anger in it, just the hardness of conviction. “But I am what I am, Josiah, and I ain’t ashamed of it. Maybe I would be if I’d had a pa, someone to disappoint. Maybe I like what I do because I didn’t have a pa around. But I didn’t have one, and I don’t worry on it now. That time has gone. And I ain’t gonna worry over what I like. It may not be your way, and I’m sorry for that worry that us being together causes you.”

 

 

 

Josiah sighed, feeling a chill on the hand that now rested on the table, barren without Vin’s hand beneath. He found himself once more staring into his drink, this one not as strong as the one he’d had earlier, but he really wished it were.

 

 

 

Before he could find words, Vin pushed up from the table and said, “Meat should be ready.” Josiah looked up, starting to offer to help, but Vin waved him off. “Best we get at full belly before we go on with this. Won’t take me but a minute to get it on the table.”

 

 

 

It was good food, enough so that Josiah actually found himself distracted from a response to Vin. Vin had added some flour to the meat broth, making a thick gravy that Josiah couldn’t think past – it reminded him of something his mother used to make, long ago and far away.

 

 

 

Reminded him that there were so many other things that didn’t have to do with what people got up to in bed.

 

 

 

Which reminded him of many of the things that he’d never been able to understand about his father. The need to intrude into people’s private affairs wasn’t something that the Bible spoke on. That was something men thought about, not God.

 

 

 

God had more important things to think about, at least Josiah hoped. It was the thought that came at night, when he led Vin into his room, when they did things that he regretted the next morning.

 

 

 

“I know Buck’s got some concerns over what happened, and I know some of ‘em have to do with what happened with his own pa.” Vin sat back, his plate empty. “But I reckon I ain’t got the patience y’all do for all of this. Orville Dunne’s first words in this town were a lie, and from that point on, JD needed to have people who would tell him that. Playing into his hope, trying to let him have some sort of idea that that man was going to step up – well, I just don’t see how that helped him. All I see was that it hurt him. And that it hurt Buck, too.”

 

 

 

His words hurt, though it took Josiah a short time to realize that it wasn’t the words themselves, it was the flatness in his tone. It wasn’t anger, not in a passionate, emotional way. If anything, it was cold and rational – more like Chris, in his calculating way, than like Vin, who was usually more spur of the moment.

 

 

 

But there was anger, and eventually, Josiah thought he knew where it came from and why. Vin had determined his own view of fathers – his father, especially – many years before. Probably so many years ago that now, he didn’t know when it as formed. Just that it was.

 

 

 

And that view was that a father who left, a father who chose to walk way, had no ground upon which to come back.

 

 

 

More to the point though, those people who gave such man another chance to betray, those people who knew what this man had done and still tried to understand – those people should know better.

 

 

 

No second chances. No forgiveness. The idea of that sort of intolerance made Josiah physically uncomfortable.

 

 

 

His construct of faith was based in forgiveness, in believing that the God he struggled to honor was, at his heart, a god of love and charity.

 

 

 

In a way he hadn’t considered before, Vin was a student of the Old Testament, of tests and failures and punishments.

 

 

 

“I see you frowning, and I know you don’t like what I’m saying – and I ain’t saying people can’t change. It don’t happen often, but sometimes people do learn from mistakes or come to change their minds. And maybe I ain’t got patience for this because I got my own concerns about my own pa. The thing to me, though, is that Orville Dunne lied from the start, and all seven of us knew it. Weren’t much way this could have gone any different.”

 

 

 

Josiah sighed, pushing his own plate away. “You’ve said that twice now, that he lied from the start. What do you think that first lie was?”

 

 

 

Vin tilted his head to one side, studying Josiah. After a short time, he said, “When he told JD that he remembered teaching him how to ride and how to shoot. That he was glad JD took after him.”

 

 

 

Josiah closed his eyes, recalling the scene as best he could. He had enough of a memory of it to know that Orville Dunne had said those things, as he was going on about how proud he was of JD.

 

 

 

Like a father who had lost touch with his son, and wanted to reconnect by reminding him of the past.

 

 

 

As he opened his eyes, Vin went on, “On that hill top when we were all chained up by the Ghosts, JD told the story of how his ma had died, how she’d wanted him to go to school but there hadn’t been enough money. And how she was a poor woman working for some rich people.”

 

 

 

Josiah shook his head, that memory not as clear. That had been a while back, years now, and he hadn’t thought on it for a long time. Though he did seem to recall some part of this story from JD’s past.

 

 

 

“You were hurting, I reckon,” Vin said softly. “We were all chained up together, and they pushed Buck down against you and your leg, where you’d been shot. JD went on to say that he’d taught himself to ride – he worked in the stables, while his ma worked in the house. He taught himself to ride. His pa was long gone by then.”

 

 

 

Josiah blew out a breath then said, “Okay, so Orville lied about that. But -”

 

 

 

“JD also taught himself to shoot. He’s damned good, and he’s damned proud. Proud enough that he’s bragged on teaching himself for as long as we’ve known him. You can say he’s lying if you want, but of the two of them, one of them was, and I ain’t got a doubt in my head that it was Orville, and it started the minute he walked into town.” Vin leaned forward and this time, he reached past Josiah and took up the whiskey bottle, take a long pull right out of the bottle. It wasn’t usual for him, but Josiah had come to know some of Vin’s tells, and this one was a sign of how upset he was. Not angry, not in a true sense. Just upset.

 

 

 

Because he had a truth that he thought everyone else shared, yet they didn’t. He was doubting himself, a little, but more, he was doubting the rest of them.

 

 

 

And he had explained it so well that Josiah was coming to understand Vin’s truth as well. To Vin, family wasn’t a practical experience. It was a concept. He had spent his life watching other people, other families, and he’d had people tell him what families were supposed to do. Family stood up for each other – he’d said that during the whole mess with Frank Connelly and the Nichols family. But families didn’t lie, not to each other and about each other. And they didn’t run out on each other.

 

 

 

Things that Josiah also believed.

 

 

 

He sighed and held out a hand, taking the bottle from Vin and also taking a deep drink of it. As he swallowed, he handed it back and said, “I guess we all wanted JD to be happy,” he said. “So much so that we ignored the things that would have hurt JD.”

 

 

 

Vin lifted the bottle but he didn’t bring it to his lips. “Didn’t this hurt him more?” he asked.

 

 

 

The tone of the question wasn’t harsh or angry – it was, in its own way, pained. And that pain reinforced Josiah’s earlier thought, that for Vin, this was as much about how his own views of things differed from those whose opinions he valued.

 

 

 

Josiah closed his eyes for a few seconds, considering how to answer. When he opened them, he reached out and took the bottle from Vin and then took Vin’s hand in his own. “Yes, it did. Which we didn’t consider.” He took another sip from the bottle, then he poured some of the whiskey into a glass. “It wasn’t a smart thing we did, none of us. Though it’s possible that if any one of us had tried to talk to him, to warn him, he would have been angry about it. But you’re right, none of us did try. Instead, we continued to let him hope.”

 

 

 

He set the bottle down and, still holding Vin’s hand, he pushed up from the table. “I believe in hope, Vin, or at least I try to. I hope JD will come to terms with this, though given how the rest of us are still struggling with the memories of our fathers, maybe what I really hope – and what I hoped then – was that JD would find something different from what I did. And maybe that’s what kept us from seeing it as clear as you.” He tugged, trying to draw Vin up.

 

 

 

Vin didn’t give in yet, though his fingers held onto Josiah. “I didn’t say anything, either,” he said, “not to JD. Reckon I’m as much to blame. I thought maybe I was seeing it all wrong and that y’all had something I had missed. But the longer it went on, and then that night that Buck came here . . .”

 

 

 

Josiah stepped closer and leaned down, touching Vin’s forehead with his nose. “The more confused you became because you didn’t have the experience of having a father around.”

 

 

 

Vin tightened his grip but he still didn’t get up. “Maybe. I figured there was something I was missing. And maybe it was that.” He drew in a breath, then he looked up and smiled at Josiah. “Though after hearing Buck, I think I was wondering if I hadn’t come out on the good side of things.”

 

 

 

Josiah grinned and tugged harder. “Maybe you did. As long as . . .” He caught himself, not wanting to think about where is mind had gone.

 

 

 

But Vin shook his head, even as he finally rose to his feet. “As I said before, you ain’t my pa and you ain’t someone I want to be my pa.” He leaned in close, brushing his chest against Josiah’s. “I lived this long without him, and truth be told, the one thing I’ve learned from all of this is that I ain’t interested in finding him. I just want a good person to care about me. And I think I done found that.”

 

 

 

The next morning, sitting on the boardwalk drinking coffee, Josiah found that he was relaxed – at peace. He had awakened with Vin in his bed – a warm and comforting presence that had not given way to guilt.

 

 

 

Not even now, several hours later.

 

 

 

“Seems things are more peaceful today,” Nathan said. He spoke quietly, but also easily. “A welcome change from yesterday.”

 

 

 

Josiah considered it for a time, noting that it wasn’t just him; there was a peacefulness about the town this morning, a quietness that didn’t carry the pall of death. In the distance, he could hear bird song and smell the faint hints of sage and verbena. White clouds floated in the sky, dimming the brightness of the sun and its heat. It would be hot later in the day, but for now, it was pleasant and calm.

 

 

 

“Noticed that Vin wasn’t part of the discussion yesterdat,” Nathan said.

 

 

 

It wasn’t a question, and Josiah didn’t have to respond. But over the past year, Nathan had observed a number of things that the commented on, without out right asking. For that reason, Josiah felt the need to address some points, to delay the discussion that could happen at any time.

 

 

 

“He didn’t trust Orville from the start. And truth be told, I guess he was right. Reckon we all saw more in the man than was there, because we wanted to.”

 

 

 

Nathan drew in a breath, looking down the street toward the church. “Yeah, sort of thought it was something like that. Vin’s never been much for talking about his own kin. Though he does believe in helping family. He was there for me, from the start. Kept me from getting my fool self killed, trying to ride in there and save my daddy, at Eagle Bend.”

 

 

 

Josiah turned and looked at his friend. “What? You never told me . . .”

 

 

 

Nathan shrugged, staring into his coffee as he lifted it to his mouth. Before he took a sip, he said, “When Chris said we were going in to protect some colored man, I knew it was something I had to do. But when he said my father’s name – well, Vin was right there. He took the lead, and he moved us as fast as he could. But he didn’t let me run right in. He made me stop and think about how to do it – even after he let me use his telescope to see that it was my father.”

 

 

 

Nathan drew in a breath and put down his cup, turning to look at Josiah, catching him straight in the eyes. “I reckon I have some pretty strong views on things – Ezra’s born the brunt of my opinions more than once. And I’d be a liar if I didn’t find some irony in the fact that his ma and my pa came to a respect that he and I still struggle for. But there’s been many a night that I’ve laid awake in bed and puzzled through the things my daddy told me, all the ways in which I was wrong about him, and because of that, about me. And in all of that, I know that if I hadn’t had Vin on my side, for no reason other than that he believed me when I said I thought it was my pa – not that I knew it was, but that I thought it was – I’d be a much sadder man now.”

 

 

 

Josiah looked away, hoping that Nathan didn’t see the surprise – and love – in his eyes. Not for the first time, he was caught unprepared for the affection he felt for Vin. For the respect the younger man managed, with no intent, to stir in him.

 

 

 

“Reckon he might have been right,” Nathan went on. “Guess we should have been more careful with JD’s pa. Hate JD got hurt, but it probably makes it worse for him that we didn’t try to warn him.”

 

 

 

Josiah drank from his own cup, considering the idea. “Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly. “Hope can be a dangerous thing. It leads a man to ignore what’s right in front of him. But I think that we all wanted JD to find something we wanted. And in a way – well, in a way, he did. Maybe not in the way we meant, but knows now that the man who left him and his ma was never really good enough for them to start with. And he knows how much Buck loves him. Buck isn’t his father, but the love of a brother is often stronger and better.”

 

 

 

And, a voice whispered from the back of his mind, the love of a beloved . . .

 

 

 

Nathan leaned back in his chair, looking out into the morning. “You heading over to Nettie’s today?”

 

 

 

Josiah shrugged. “Tomorrow, I think. Vin’s heading out today, figure he can get the lay of the land, see if JD needs another day of . . .”

 

 

 

Nathan chuckled. “Another day of mothering from Nettie – well, insofar as one could call it that?”

 

 

 

Josiah grinned. “Yeah, something like that. Though it seems to work well enough for Vin.”

 

 

 

“Two peas in a pod,” Nathan said, still amused. “In some ways, I think he found his true family with her. And with us – but then, I think we all did.”

 

 

 

It was hard to argue that.

 

 

 

In fact, as they sat there in the warm morning sun, Josiah realized that this was exactly what Vin had been trying to tell him: that what they had here, the friendships they had built among themselves, with the town, the comfort they found here, was a true family.

 

 

 

Their family. The only one that really, truly mattered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
